


The Warning

by d_aia



Series: What If [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Badass Arya, Badass characters, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Oberyn Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: What if Arya, after leaving the Hound and knowing she doesn’t have the money to buy herself passage to Jon, goes to the Red Keep hoping to see Sansa? Unfortunately, Sansa has already left but Arya has heard about the trial by combat between the Mountain and Oberyn Martell. She stays to watch. What would change?





	The Warning

“Who gave you the order?” Oberyn shouts as silence settles over the arena. “Say her name!” He’s desperate for the confession and the recounting of events makes him furious. “You raped her!” He is circling the piece of shit, hoping, _hoping,_ for a confession. “You murdered her! You killed her children!” He is _seething._ “Say it! Sa—”

“Too close!” a voice howls from the crowd.

And Oberyn realizes he got too close. He dances back quickly, but he can’t quite avoid the murderer’s hand when he lounges after Oberon’s foot. Oberyn trips. He quickly crawls back. The murderer follows him. Oberyn smashes the spear on the murderer’s hand and with a roll backward, he is again on his feet.

Without a weapon.

But the third spear is in his hand soon enough and Oberyn has managed to get enough distance from the murderer to look into the crowd, hoping to see his rescuer.

The crowd looks back.

It’s quiet except the murderer’s dragging his carcass in slow, desperate crawl towards Oberyn. He doesn’t pay him any mind. The murderer wasn’t ever going to confess and Oberyn realizes that now. It tastes bitter, but he’s going to have his revenge on the murderer’s Lord soon enough.  

Oberyn is more interested in who helped him.

There.

A pair of eyes, so focused they burn.

Oberyn suppresses a shiver.

A young boy—courtly clothes and short stature.

No.

A girl—indeterminate age, dressed in boys’ clothes.

No.

Light eyes, thin face—a young Lyanna Stark stares at him.

Judges him.

Mouths, “Move.”

Oberyn automatically takes a few steps back to see that the murderer almost reached him. He steps lightly to the right, keeping a safe distance, and taking a moment to think. The ghost of Lyanna Stark.

What? How? Why?

And then his thoughts turn towards something he could actually do: she might be in danger. She helped him. He accused Lannister.

Right, questions later.

Distract, now.

“Who kept you around after you did it?” Oberyn shouts, trying to get the draw attention to him and the Lannisters. “Was it the Baratheons?” He shifts to look and then takes a few quick steps back. Oberyn doesn’t need to be tripping now. “Was it the Lannisters?”  He points viciously at Lannister, who lifts his chin.

The murderer drags himself relentlessly. Oberyn’s not worried. The spears are poisoned. The murderer’s going to die eventually.

“Who might have given you your orders?” Orberyn turns to look to his left and steps sideways quickly.

The murderer stops, but he already fooled Oberyn once.

“Who else did you terrorize?” Oberyn yells. “Who else did you murder? Who’d have the advantage? _Whose dog are you?_ ”

Oberyn almost gets too close again. It’s too raw for him still. He can’t do this for long so he hopes that the ghost escaped. Changing his grip on the spear, he throws it at the murderer. Oberyn moves as soon as it lands, to present a harder target. And sure enough, the murderer rips the spear from his gut and throws it at Oberyn.

It misses.

Oberyn grabs another spear.

And the murderer—finally—dies.

Oberyn breathes.

One down.

*

“My love,” Ellaria says and embraces him tightly.

Oberyn breathes in the scent of her. “It is done.”

Tightening even further her embrace, Ellaria nods and Oberyn knows that _he_ was almost done. 

“I am fine,” Oberyn says. “I am healthy and I am here.”

Ellaria smiles with tears in her eyes. “You are and I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Oberyn says and kisses her.

When Oberyn feels Ellaria’s body against his own, her soft lips, the scent of her hair, he’s home.

Before things get heated, though, Tyrion coughs. “Thank you.” He swallows. “I am in your debt. If there is anything…”

“Yes,” Ellaria says. “You could begin by telling us—” Oberyn touches her back lightly in warning and Ellaria continues, “That you’re going to join us for a fest.”

Tyrion doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to study them in silence. “It would be my pleasure,” he finally says.

*

“I presume,” Tyrion says lowly at the end of the meal, “that you want to know the identity of the person who warned your… paramour.”

Oberyn gently strokes Ellaria’s arm, as always fascinated by her beauty, and doesn’t say a thing.

“I suspect we are being watched. That is expected,” Ellaria says. “But I owe gratitude so if it’s anyone you know, I would like to have their name.”

Tyron nods his head slowly. “Understandable.”

“You didn’t look,” Oberyn observes, smiling.

“I did,” Tyrion says.

“And what did you see?” Ellaria asks.

“The crowd,” Tyrion answers. “I didn’t look immediately and afterward… it was useless.”

“I did too.” Ellaria takes the wine goblet. “Did anyone?”

“I have no doubt that they did,” Tyrion says. “Your paramour being one.”

“Did you see anybody send people after them?” Oberyn asks, ignoring the implication.

Tyrion huffs. “Cersei was… upset enough, but your distraction worked. You drew attention to them and they couldn’t. I’m sure they were sent later.”

“With few results.” Oberyn nods at a window where two Lannister soldiers cross paths with another three. “I cannot say it doesn’t cause me joy.”

“Neither can I.” Tyrion leans over. “I won’t ask for their identity, though you can trust me with it, I’m simply curious why you’re not doing anything.”

Oberyn clenches his jaw and smiles slyly. “I’d do more harm than good.”

Eyes narrowed in thought, Tyrion says, “At this point.”

“Yes,” Oberyn confirms. He studies Tyrion. It’s risky, but there’s only one way of knowing the ghost’s fate and that’s knowing if what he saw was true or not. “Anyway. It was a ghost. I doubt that they can do her much harm.”

Tyrion frowns. He then straightens and looks around discreetly. “Lyanna Stark?”

Ellaria turns to Oberyn in confusion, but his eyes are trained on Tyrion.

“It wasn’t her,” Tyrion says, with a small smile. “That was her niece; Arya Stark.”

A cold wave splashes Oberyn and he clenches his arm. “How old is she?”

“I’m sure she’s not yet four and ten.” Tyrion seems to ponder a little before saying, “Did you know she escaped the Red Keep before her father’s beheading? Guards looking for her, the Mountain himself, and they never could find her.”

Oberyn understands. Tyrion’s offering hope. And Oberyn’s comforted, some, but she’s still a child.

*

The Lannister guards search for two days. They don’t seem to have found what they were looking for. Oberyn doesn’t know if it’s just a Tywin Lannister plot meant to confuse and hide another heinous act or if there’s still hope.

Arya Stark.

If what Tyrion said was true, then the Mountain was a common enemy. Possibly. Do children think in those terms? His daughters are warriors, but he can’t remember the age for those kinds of thoughts. _Their_ father wasn’t beheaded.

_“Too close.”_

And yet. That was a trained observation, from somebody used to fight bigger people. He had heard rumors of Syrio Forel being in the Red Keep at the time. It was exactly the type of observation he’d have made.

Oberyn sighs. Maybes and hopes are all he has. Tywin’s still out there and Lyanna Stark’s niece saved his life. This is was definitely not what Oberyn expected.

The horns sound and a Dornish girl approaches Oberyn.

Tywin was killed. Tyrion has disappeared. Everybody has apparently moved on to hunt for the Imp. 

Tyrion has paid his debt, both to his father and to Oberyn. There was no dire need for him to do this, but, apparently, a Lannister always pays his debts. Oberyn has nothing more to do here than a wish: _May the sun shine on you, Tyrion._

*

Oberyn thinks he sees her once in Braavos, many months later. She’s blind and the crowd is thick. Arya doesn’t answer her name and disappears before he can reach her. Oberyn _hopes_ it’s not her.

*

Later, Oberyn hears of the House Frey, who owe their infamy to butchering the Starks and defaming their corpses. It sounds familiar. He knows the rage that comes from a loved one being disrespected and murdered, of children being slaughtered, and of principles being betrayed. He sets sail for White Harbor.

*

Oberyn wants to draw his loved ones close once he reaches Winterfell and the situation is explained to him by Lady Stark. It sounds crazy. But he remembers a warning, he watches the serious face in front of him, he observes the grim, but determined people and _knows_. There’s preparation going on around him and an underneath, hidden and almost forgotten, is fear. They do not seem to be the kind of people scared by tales.

It’s not crazy.

“I’ll write to my brother to call the bannermen,” Oberyn says quietly. It’s not the right time, but it never is. “I don’t think the Tyrell’s would be available, they are at war with the Crown, but I’ll have to think some way around it.” 

“The King in the North, my brother, is at Dragonstone trying to negotiate with the Dragon Queen,” Lady Stark offers. “He has seen the Others. Perhaps some of your Lords can join him there.”

“They must,” Oberyn says. “Daenerys is going to be almost impossible to convince.” 

Lady Stark’s eyes focus on him. “If you can aid in any way, it’s appreciated.”

“Of course, it is.” Oberyn chuckles and it’s only a little hysterical. “You’re battling dead people because winter is actually coming. In my opinion, your House wins that shitty chair by value of you being the target of jokes when you tried to warn us all.” He sighs. “That is obviously not how it works, but there’s no need to add humiliation to a people determined to protect us all. It’s cheap and petty.”

“We’re pleased you think so,” Lady Stark says with an elegant nod. She suddenly furrows her brows. “I’m sorry, Prince Oberyn, it doesn’t seem like I have the reason for your visit. You are always welcome, of course, and I won’t lie and say that it isn’t a great relief to have you consider our cause, but if there’s something I can help you with, I wouldn’t want you to hesitate in telling me.”

“Your sister, Arya.” Oberyn studies the pretty face for any reaction, but it seems blank. “What do you know of her?”

There’s a flash a pain like a cloud covering the sky but it’s quick in passing. “Nothing at all, Prince Oberyn. She was lost to us along with my father.”

Oberyn sits back. “I see.”

“May I ask why?”

“I believe she saved my life,” Oberyn says. “I don’t know that it was her, you see, she was described to me by Tyrion Lannister.”

Oberyn can easily see that Lady Stark is paying complete attention even though there’s nothing to put his finger on as to what’s changed in her demeanor.

“Described how?” Lady Stark asks.

“As having a particular resemblance with Lyanna Stark.”

Lady Stark studies him. “I presume you recognized Lyanna then. If I grasped the order of events right.”

“Yes.”

“How many times did you see her? Lyanna Stark.”

“Once, she left an impression.”

Lady Stark nods. “If you’d like to follow me to the crypts, there’s Lyanna’s like depicted in statue. It might be helpful to you to be certain.”

“As the Lady wishes.”

Lady Stark curtsies in thanks and they leave the room. She’s silent until they enter the crypts. “I worry,” she says and nothing more.

And Oberyn understands. He knows the feeling that tries her; the pressure, the fear. Starks are loyal, everybody knows that, and Oberyn has been through it before: the idea that part of his family was gone was devastating. To find out there’s hope… that’s precious. 

“It’s as I remember her,” Oberyn confirms once they reach the statues. “This was some time ago.”

Lady Stark takes a deep breath.

*

Arya Stark is home.

Oberyn waits until she finishes her reunions before saying anything. “It’s good to be home, Lady Arya.”

“I’m not a lady.”

Oberyn smiles. “You do not like the implications inherent in the title.” He knows all about this. 

Lady Arya nods and looks at him curiously. There’s something dancer-like in her bearing, warrior-like in her confidence, and she, like her sister, seems cold and detached. Though there’s definitely something northern, eerie and brilliant in both sisters, Lady Arya seems like a Lyanna who’s truly dangerous. And everyone who’s seen Lyanna ride can admit to a certain danger.

“Was it you?” Oberyn questions without even realizing it.

Arya watches him for a while. “You were too close,” she finally says.

“I was,” Oberyn admits. “Thank you.”

Arya nods.

“A spar?” Oberyn offers.

The smile on Arya’s face, though, is the beaming sun of Dorne.

*

They are called in the Great Hall just as the Others approach.

Jon Snow—the bastard of Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, and King of the North—is actually the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Oberyn laughs. He throws his head back and he laughs. His people around him don’t know what to do, but to him it’s clear.

“Prince Oberyn—” Sn—St—Targ—Jon begins. There’s a hesitation in his voice that could easily transform in fear.

“I have no problem with you, Your Grace.” Oberyn chuckles some more. “It just occurs to me that with snakes and roses and lions and dragons and all sorts of duplicitous creatures, the sneakiest one should not be the wolf.” He smiles. “Lord Eddard Stark must have loved his sister very much.”

Jon bows his head and it stays that way.

“The lone wolf perishes, while the pack survives,” Arya says. “We are not them, but we can be a pack.” She looks at Gendry Waters, Robert’s bastard, and then at Oberyn.

Oberyn smirks.  “As the She-wolf said.” He raises the goblet. “To the Pack that protects us through the Long Night and beyond. May the sun shine on us again.”

“To the Pack.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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